


Castle of Crystal and Blood

by IngarysEldest



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Eventual Relationships, F/F, Gen, M/M, Really more tweaking canon to make it better, Technically OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IngarysEldest/pseuds/IngarysEldest
Summary: The King of Adarlan is in need of a Blade. Prince Dorian is need of a challenger who can assure his victory in his father's ridiculous competition. And Celeana Sardothien is in need of a way out of Endovier, to extract revenge on those who took what she loved.It makes for an interesting arrangement.(Characters,ships, tags, and warnings to be added as needed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so excited to be sharing the first chapter with you :)  
> Full disclaimer: This is a TOG re-write. If you're a fan of the original, you might not like this. If you check my tumblr, you'll see that I am a part of the "anti" community. This is because while I like some aspects of the original, I think it could be a lot more. Hence, this fic. It's actually meant to be a part of a full-series rewrite, but we'll see how far I get.  
> For more worldbuilding stuff, please feel fee to check out my tumblr! I will be using a different map of Erilea and a modified pantheon than Canon, but hopefully there'll be enough explanation in the text itself. If not, I'll be happy to answer questions!

Celaena Sardothien knew she wasn’t going to die because there was a hood tied around her head.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at it before it was pulled over her head, but it was a rough, heavy fabric, like a grain-sack but smaller in size. It had worked to disorient her for a while, but her mind wandered back into old habits.

The rope that tied her hands had been tied securely but hastily, so that it was to tight and cut into her wrists. There were around six guards escorting her, given away by cheap metal clanking as they walked. Then there was another set of footfalls that had initially eluded her, a soft steps of good leather boots.She might not have had time to notice all these details if they hadn’t spent what seemed like an eternity walking around halls and corners and staircases, as if that could disguise that they had entered the only building with marble floors within three days’ ride.

They turned east once more and paused. Even with a hood there was no way to hide the creaking of heavy doors, or the heavy gust of wind that followed. The entourage moved forward and stopped approximately forty paces into the room. There was a rustling, then a cold, shape blade to the base of her neck. It nicked her as it cut through the ropes, and she silently let out a breath as the hood was yanked upwards.

Celaena’s eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the brightly lit room. There was a candle chandelier that lit the room, twinkling like a little constellation and reflecting off the polished white floor. Other than that, the room was cold and grey, like everything in Endovier that wasn’t caked in mud.  
She had been right about the six guards, she noted with satisfaction, and about their guest. He was younger than she expected, despite his rugged face and large brown eyes that were a few shades darker than his close-cropped hair. His clothes were simple but well cared for, as was the sword on his hip. In front of him there were more guards, but not Endovier guards. For one, they were better equipped with crossbows rather than just swords, and had deep crimson tunics that displayed two circles and a triangle prominently in silver thread. Celaena’s mind froze as she recognized the insignia.

That was the Duke’s insignia, and beyond the guards was the man himself.

The curiosity she had about her situation was replaced with a bright, consuming anger. She felt herself tense up, energy she hadn’t known remained rushed through her body as her muscles prepared to leap when a lazy but clear voice rang across the room.

“I thought I told you to clean her up.”

For the second time, Celaena looked up in surprise. At the far end of the room on a raised dais was the Crown Prince of Adarlan, Dorian Havilliad, staring at her with languid disdain.

There was no mistaking his profile, all sharp angles and high cheekbones that looked perfect in coins. In person, it gave his blue eyes a striking effect, like a splash of cold water on a warm day. Even if that hadn’t tipped her off, the embroidered royal wyvern decorating his doublet would have been a dead giveaway.

“You also wanted to spend as little time in here as possible,” The man beside Celaena replied, tight lipped, then added almost as an afterthought, “Your Highness.”  
Judging by the familiarity in his tone and the stories she’d heard, the man beside her was likely Captain Westfall of the Prince’s Guard.

“Hmm.” The corners of the prince’s mouth dipped in displeasure. “With all the time you wasted going up and down stairs, you should have dumped a bucket of water over her.” He looked at her directly, and Celaena flinched, letting her disgust show on her face. “No curtsy for your Prince?”

She mustered as much saliva as her dry mouth could produce and spit on the floor, which earned her a club to the stomach from one of her entourage. Celaena hissed in pain, but didn’t move much.

“Does she talk, or has the prison made her as mute as she is uncivilized?”

The smooth, indifferent tone of Duke Perrington replied. “If it has, that’s only a testament to the efficiency of my mines, your highness. If you would like, I could ask the guards to beat her until she speaks.”

Celaena looked up in time to catch the flat glare Prince Dorian gave the Duke. “She’s already filthy enough, Perrington, I don’t need her rolling around in her own blood.”

The Crown Prince looked around the room at the guards as if he had just noticed them, and frowned. “Actually, why are there all these guards here? Don’t you have a meeting with Endovier’s treasurer you could take them to?”

She caught Westfall stiffen slightly out of the corner of her eye, and the Duke narrowed his eyes. “Your Highness-”

“Oh, leave a few guards outside the door, if you’d like,” Prince Dorian waved away the Duke’s words, “But if Chaol here can’t take on a bound, starved, beaten young woman with no weapons the standard of the castle guards really has fallen.” Despite herself, Celaena wanted to smile at the expression on the Duke’s face.  
With lips tighter than should be possible, Duke Perrington gave a bow and a, “My liege.” When he turned and left, both the prison guard and Perrington’s men followed.

Captain Westfall was tense at her side as the Prince paced the dais. He gave her a smile that Celaena was sure would be more charming if she wasn’t a prisoner of the salt mines. “Anything to say now that we have a little more privacy, Sardothien?”

She continued her silence with a glare. As he moved the red cloak that he wore rippled behind him, as if taunting her.

“That’s a pity,” Prince Dorian sighed, too smoothly to feel natural. “And here I was, ready to offer you a proposition to get out of this wretched mine.”

Celaena stopped herself from moving, but her eyes had already snapped back to the Prince, and that didn’t go without notice. His lips parted into a grin, and Celaena silently berated herself.

When she spoke her voice came out scratchy, like it had clawed its way out from a dark well. “And why should I trust anything that a Havilliad has to offer?”

The Captain’s hand tightened on his sword’s grip, but the Prince grinned and clapped his hands, exclaiming “She speaks!”

She hadn’t thought it was possible, but despite the rough binding she managed to clench her hands into fists. She was standing, she knew, far straighter than she had in months, with a haughty raised chin. It seemed to be the day for old habits. Inwardly she sighed and rose to the bait.

“There’s not much worth saying to murderers and thieves.” Her voice was smoother this time, which wasn’t saying much.

Prince Dorian scoffed, his own tone amused. “And you’re one to say that, aren’t you? With your record or, what was it Chaol, Twenty-five men in one night?”

“Twenty seven.” The Captain replied, “Throats slit and their blood used to paint the Assassin King’s symbol on the Market Wall during Yuletide.”

“Yes, thank you. And as for thieves, well, you’ll have to take that up with my father.” Here Dorian paused, letting silence fill the room with tension before breaking it. “He’s got it into his head that he needs an assassin.”

It took a minute for the words Dorian had spoken to process in Celaena’s mind, and the absurdity of it made her snort. “What?”

“He’s a man that likes to play games. The most recent is to find someone worthy of being his glorified henchmen. A symbol of his power, to keep the nobles in line. Players in this little distraction of his will each sponsor a challenger to compete against each other, and the winner will receive the title of King’s Blade.”

Celaena could only shake her head in amusement. “You want me to compete? And why in Mala’s name would I ever do that?”

Dorian shrugged. “Patriotic duty? A love for stabbing people? I was thinking your freedom would be a tempting offer.”

The amusement was gone as Celaena remembered what was on the line.

“Freedom meaning what?” She asked, after a pause. “A quick execution?”

“You assassins, always thinking about death. No, here are my terms: Play as my challenger, and you’ll be out of this…prison,”He forced out the word, “and taken to Rifthold, were you’ll live comfortably for the duration of the game. After you win, you’ll serve as the King’s Blade for six years, after which I’ll personally ensure that you have enough gold to live well and pursue you own interests.”

“And if my interests include slaughtering you and your family?”

“You’re welcome to try. I won’t stop you. But Chaol and the rest of the guards won’t make the same promises.”

“And why do you think that they would succeed in stopping me? I’ve survived Endovier for over a year-”

“You have survived,” The Prince interrupted her, “because someone’s been paying for you to.”

Celaena’s mouth snapped shut. Liar, her first instinct said, but no. She stared at him questioningly, and he had the audacity to chuckle. “Oh, not me. Likely not my father either, but who knows with him? In any case, someone’s been paying the Warden to go easy on you. So the question is, Sardothien” he drawled out this part, satisfaction clear, “how long do you think you can last without that protection? A week? A fortnight? How many guards do you think still want revenge for the food riots?”

“No one knows how that started.” She growled.

“You’ve seen prisoners killed for lesser offenses than suspicion. And yet you’re still walking around, aren’t you? Did you never wonder why the Warden’s replacement never got around to executing you? Did you think you were just that great of a miner, or that they had begun to think of you as Mala herself?” Prince Dorian smirked, and it felt like the cold steel when pressed to her neck. “I can bring in the new Warden, if you like. He can show you the gold, whatever hasn’t already been spent on wine. The money started coming in three months after you did, about five weeks before the riot. It increased dramatically afterward, of course, but it’s been a steady stream ever since.”

It added up. Damn the bastard, but the pieces fell in place before Celaena’s eyes. But who? Arobynn? He had to know she would kill him if she ever got out. There was no one else who knew she was here, not anyone who cared enough to pay large sums of gold, anyhow.

“In any case, we’ve reprimanded the Warden about his supplemental income, and so the question must be asked: How long can you survive on your own, without the Warden’s protection?”

She gave him a grim smile that was more like a baring of teeth, and was happy to note that for a flicker of a second he flinched, disgusted at the state of her mouth. “For all your talk, you aren’t giving me much choice.”

He walked closer to her, despite his companion’s glare, close enough to be an arm’s length away, and stared into her eyes. “Celaena Sardothien, I fully believe that if you wanted to die in the filth outside like a flea-ridden stray instead of spending a single more breath in my company, you would.”

She lunged at him.

It was less of a lunge than an aggressive step forward, but it was sudden and quick, and just as quick was the full weight of the Captain slamming into her, throwing her to the floor.

“Chaol.” The voice was clear with warning, and the Captain stopped as his sword’s edge kissed her skin.

Prince Dorian hadn’t moved.

Celaena relaxed as much as she could underneath Captain Westfall to show she had no intention of trying to get up. Once her breath came back to her, she said “When do we start?”

She had been a symbol of death and power for somebody once. She could do it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
> Um, so this is a little later than I thought it would be, sorry! Life decided it needed to get in the way. Hope you enjoy though! 
> 
> Oh, slight trigger warning for this chapter, as there is description of Celaena's wounds/the physical effects of Endovier.

It had been raining constantly since they had set out from Endovier, which had been the morning after the Prince had made his proposition. Celaena had been unceremoniously thrown into a room with an oaken tub and told not to come out until she had run out of soap. In the morning, she had been given a spare guard uniform that hung too loose, but was at least durable and warm. Captain Westfall had led them to the outer courtyard, which was already crawling with horses and men, shouting orders and loading gear. Ignoring all of them, he led her to a large black stallion, tied a length of rope around her waist and then mounted the horse.

Celaena raised an eyebrow. “Am I to walk, my Lord?”

He tied the other end of the rope around his belt, and then held out his hand. “Captain, not Lord. You’re riding with me, Sardothien.”

Celaena’s eyes narrowed. “I know how to ride-”

“More the reason to keep you in a place where I can see you at all times.”

She held up her still-bound wrists. “Isn’t this a little excessive, Captain?”

He huffed. “Do you want to get on the horse or walk?”

After that, it was a hard two week’s riding back to Rifthold. Celaena suspected that this wasn’t so much because they were in a hurry to get back, but because the Captain wanted to keep her as exhausted as possible on the road.

This morning had improved things marginally. Celaena was given a castle guard’s uniform and her own horse, a piebald mare. Best of all, her hands wouldn’t be tied as they rode into the city. It meant that she would have to ride surrounded by guards, with her mare on a lead, but it was nice to have the mobility back. The Captain, the Prince and the Duke would all ride ahead of her. To any spectators, it would look like a normal return for Prince Dorian and the Duke back from one of the Duke’s residences.

Prince Dorian made an impressive sight, she had to admit. Both him and Westfall were wearing rich red capes, pinned over the left breast with a brooch in the shape of the royal wyvren, and a sparking circlet crown shone brightly among the Prince's dark hair.

Celaena grateful that with all the attention on him instead of her. With the cloak’s hood raised she looked identical to the escorting guards. There were only a handful of people in the city who knew her well enough to know what she looked like, and none of them frequented the road to the palace. It was a place that was too frequently watched by the city guard, and a place known for amateurs looking for easy marks in the newcomers that flooded through the city gates every morning.

Still, she found herself having difficulty breathing, and not just because of the city’s reek. She was gripping the useless reins with white knuckles and looking down with clenched teeth, almost refusing to look up. The city seemed so distant, so separate, with silly people who still waved and bowed, cheering and laughing, throwing flowers and other nonsense before their horses. If they had looked closer, they might have noticed her clenched jaw, or the tremor in her hands.

The iron gates of the palace loomed, and she pushed the thoughts from her mind.

The street opened up to a cobblestone path, lined with lampposts and hedges. They passed under an elaborate glass archway, the noises of the crowds fading behind them as Rifthold’s pride and joy, the Glass Castle, rose to the sky. It was a massive structure, full of turrets and towers, keeping watch over the rest of the city beneath. Upon closer inspection it looked more like crystal than glass, and it wasn’t translucent. It became a thick, blue-tinted opaque color, enough so that Celaena couldn’t see any stone or wood behind it, although there were small marks and nicks that she assumed were wear and tear.

The cobbled path led to an open courtyard, and the party dismounted. By the time she had shaken the dust from her trousers, the Captain was at her side. He discreetly but firmly gripped her cloak as Prince Dorian approached, a smile on his face. When they were close enough to avoid being overheard, he gave a small bow. “Well, welcome to my home, Celaena Sardothien.” He gestured to the palace behind him. “Six hundred rooms, including military and servant’s quarters, three gardens, a game park, and stables on either side. Who could ever need so much space?”

“It certainly is…impressive, your Highness.” She offered, a little unsure of what to say to what was, essentially, the first words the prince had spoken to her in the last two weeks. Prince Dorian replied with a sardonic smile. “You can say ‘waste of space’, Sardothien. At least around me.” He winked, and she did her best not to recoil.

The courtyard was filling up with castle servants and stable boys, who were leading the horses away. The Prince looked towards the castle, smile wavering, before turning back to her and the Captain.

“In any case, I’m off to meet my father. Chaol will show you to your rooms, and I hope they’re to your liking. The competition will officially begin tomorrow.” He turned to Westfall and gave him a nod. “I’ll see you later?”

The Captain nodded and Dorian once again smiled, turning swiftly so that his red cape fluttered in the wind for a moment, and headed towards the palace steps. Celaena and Captain Westfall waited for the courtyard to clear up before taking another cobblestone path around the Castle.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen glass like this,” Celaena remarked. She had spent whatever moments she wasn't sleeping out of exhaustion on the road trying to get him to talk,  but bhe Captain hadn’t been the most conversational traveling companion. Now that they were back in the safety of Rifthold he might be willing to growl out more than two sentences at a time.

“It’s Wyrdglass.” He replied gruffly, and she almost stopped in her tracks, craning her neck as her eyes traveled the length of the castle.

“Wyrdglass? I didn’t know that there was this much in the world, let alone Rifthold.”

Westfall shrugged. “Prince Dorian’s grandfather commissioned it, but it wasn’t complete until his son’s first year on the throne. The entire castle isn’t made of the thing, it’s just a shell. The inside is still mostly stone.”

Celaena's companion, it seemed, had warmed up to talking, because he continued. “Your chambers are in the older part of the castle. Most of the others will be nearby as well, but not close enough that you have to worry about bumping into them. It’s close to the second garden, where most of the training and competition will take place. You're free to move around the castle, but only with an escort.”

“Is anyone else arriving today?”

“Most of them are already in their quarters.” Seeing her frown, he added, “They haven’t been allowed extra training. Most of them are from outside Rifthold and have been learning their way around the Castle, which I presume you already know.”

She shook her head. “There was never any reason to. The Royal Quarter was fair game, but no assassin was dumb enough to take a contract within these walls.”  
He looked at her quizzically, and for a moment she thought he was going to ask her something, but he shook his head. “In that case I’ll arrange for a tour later. For now, You’re to rest. The Prince has arranged to have a healer sent over to your quarters.”

Within minutes, it seemed,  they had arrived at a garden courtyard, half of which faced an entrance to the castle, and another entrance to what was presumably the second garden to the side. Captain Westfall led her inside, navigating the staircases and hallways until they reached her suite.

It was honestly bigger than she had anticipated. She had a sitting room, a bedroom with an attached chamber for bathing and dressing, adjoining to a smaller one that contained a chamberpot that also had a small window. They were sparsely furnished, but with items of good quality, in mostly crimson and gold. There were even tapestries decorating the walls of the changing room, and deep cushioned chairs in the guest room. Best of all, there was a small balcony overlooking the fountain they had passed earlier.

The fact that there were guards everywhere did take away from some of the comfort, but that was to be expected.

She sat down on the bed. “Thank the Prince for me, Captain. Are all the Champions treated as such?”

He was leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, seemingly more relaxed now that he didn’t have to watch over the Prince. “Depends. Each sponsor is responsible for furnishing their rooms, although all have rooms of similar size. Now, before the healer comes, do I need to refresh your memory about the competition?”

Celaena shook her head. “Twenty-four champions, each representing a different noble. We get a month’s worth of training, and then one challenge every two weeks where the nobles will come to laugh at us-sorry, I meant judge our skills, until only one is left.”

The captain nodded. “And you are competing as?”

“Lady Lillian of Northhold, because if they realized that they were competing against the greatest assassin of their age the rest of the challengers would _surely_ lay down their weapons and proclaim me the winner.”

Displaying an uncharacteristic show of emotions, Captain Westfall shook his head and muttered, “More because if the nobles knew they could get their hands on people that are already in prison this would all be twice as dangerous and ridiculous.”

“So why let Prince Dorian do it?”

“Trying to talk his majesty out of ideas can be difficult.”

There was a knock on the door, and both tensed, looking back towards the entrance of the suite. At the door two guards and a pretty girl entered. Her coiled dark hair was tied back in a braid, which helped empathize her large, soft green eyes against her brown skin. She was unarmed but carrying a small leather bag with both hands in front of her, and bandages and small bottles tucked into her green healer's smock. 

When she spotted the Captain, she blushed nervously. 

“Oh! Lord Westfall! I’m sorry, am I interrupting something? I was told to come to see to Lady Lillian.”

Westfall surprised Celaena by giving the girl a welcoming smile.

“No, our conversation was just over and I have other matters to attend.” He turned to Celaena, shooting her a clear warning glance. “Lady Lillian, I leave you in this healer’s capable hands.”

“Gladly, my Lord.” She replied as sweetly as she could manage, watching him roll his eyes as he exited the room, leaving the two guards behind. She stood up and turned to the healer. “It seems as though you already know my name, but what should I call you?” Celaena hadn’t, in recent months, had much practice at being disarming, but the young healer didn't seem frightened of her.

“Sorscha, Lady Lillian.”

“Just Lillian, if you don’t mind.”

Sorscha smiled and nodded. “Would you prefer to do the examination in the bedroom or the bathing room,Lillian?”

Celaena led her to the bathing room, which was just small enough to be uncomfortable for the guards to fit. Sorcha asked her to disrobe, and her eyes narrowed in anger as she took in Celaena’s condition. Despite the food and relative rest of the last two weeks, her skin was still healing. Bruises had faded, but a lot of the smaller wounds remained scabbed over or thin white lines, with her back still retaining most of the damage. To her credit, Sorscha quickly switched to a blank expression, and asked Celaena for permission to touch her before starting to clean her wounds and change bandages.

It had been easier not to think about her appearance in the mines. Between the fatigue of the work and the constant threat of both prisoners and guards, keeping her appearance tidy hadn’t been at the top of her list of things to worry about. Now that she took the time, however, she was glad there were no mirrors. She barely had anything left on her frame-gone was the muscle that let her climb Rifthold’s roofs like a sleek and agile cat. Her skin, which had always been pale, had turned almost translucent in the darkness of the mines. She supposed that made her eyes, a pretty crystalline blue, stand out, if the bags under her eyes didn’t distract too much.

Sorscha didn’t give her much time to wallow in pity, and asked questions regarding her diet, sleeping patterns, and exercise. Once satisfied, she announced, “I don’t think that there’s anything that I can do for you that rest and good food won’t, La-Lillian. I’m glad you’ve been eating solid food, but I recommend staying away from rich foods for a little longer. I’ll have word sent to your maids about your diet, but with care your recovery should be swift.” She smiled once again, but it wasn't as lighthearted as it had been when she first entered the room, and Celaena bit the inside of her mouth. _Having the healer worry about you is a good thing,_ she reminded herself. _People's pity is something that you can use to your advantage._

When she had left, Celaena collapsed on the bed, the fatigue of the day finally hitting her. From her spot, she took stock of the finer details of the room. There were six windows in total, two in the bedroom and four in the sitting room. One exit to the castle hallway, and of course the balcony. She was only on the third floor, so a jump from the balcony would be difficult but not deadly. She could hear the guards outside her room, but as far as she knew they hadn’t changed since she had entered. And it would have been hard to miss new ones coming or going. They were heavily armed, with crossbows, swords, and at least one knife each. That was more to her advantage than theirs. Crossbows were usefully, but not light, and loading one would give her the time needed to take either their sword or knife and use it. Of course, that was without assuming that there were more guards out of sight, which she had no doubt was the case in this part of the castle.

  
She rolled off the soft mattress and strolled through the rooms, opening and closing drawers and vanities. As she had thought, there were was nothing that could be used as a proper weapon-not even a fire poker. Breaking a piece of furniture to make a club or sharpen into a knife was tempting, but the rooms were sparsely furnished enough that she was sure anything that “broke” would be regarded with extreme suspicion, especially on the first night she was here. And with that much effort, she would almost be better off ambushing one of the guards.

  
She stepped out into the balcony to examine the garden. It’s far borders ended in the trees of what she assumed to be the game park. She knew that they were on the southern side of the castle, meaning that if she went through the park she would reach the inner wall of the castle, and the small tributary of the Avery that flowed beneath.

  
The gray clouds loomed overhead as she leaned on the rail. It was impossible to forget who’s hospitality she was accepting, and how quickly that could turn against her. It was a mad choice, Sam would have told her, it was bound to end in disaster.

  
_It was hardly a choice at all,_ Celaena would have snapped back.

  
And like that, the memories came back to her, in the way that the Avery returned to the sea, in the way that lighting hit the ground. She leaned further on the railing, willing herself to push back against the tide of memories, against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm-

  
There was a crash bellow, followed by a scream. Instinctively Celaena darted back to the safety of the room to take cover before looking down. Bellow her were three finely dressed court ladies, probably in the middle of taking a lovely walk around the garden, at least until one of the planters, come loose by Celaena leaning on the railing, had violently slammed into the ground in front of them. With pity and a little embarrassment Celaena noted that the middle woman, with an eye-catching red gown and gorgeous raven-black hair, had caught the worst of the planter’s mud on this damp day, and was not pleased about it.

  
Celaena thought about apologizing, but there were currently four crossbows aimed at her from neighboring roofs, and the guards outside her door had barged in. She held her hands above her head and let them search her and the rooms, and by the time that they were finished the ladies had vanished. Celaena sighed. Maybe the dress could be salvaged.

  
Celaena’s mind turned back to her previous thoughts, and she set her jaw in determination. She was out of Endovier now, and she had to make that count. Had to become stronger, more clever than she had ever been. And maybe afterward, she could finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're seeing some differences from Mass :)  
> I cut out a lot, but like I said I'm going to be making comments/posts about worldbuilding that isn't organically introduced to the story. I tried writing some of the journey from Endovier to Rifthold, but I wanted a faster pace at the beginning. ATM I think the last bit is a little meh, but what do you guys think?  
> Also, 600 rooms seems pretty excessive, but it's smaller than Buckingham Palace, so I'm thinking it's about the size of Versailles/ That's how I'm picturing it, but mixed with Edinburgh's castle which is up on a hill and overlooks the city.  
> Also, I picture Sorscha looking like Angel Coulby but with green eyes, for the record. Minor spoilers but she's not being introduced just to die at the end!


End file.
